


True Love's Kiss

by Prettyy_vacant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All the Starks are alive, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, And now everyone is back in the North, Arya is 18, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Jon Snow knows some things, Jon and Gendry gonna bro out, Ned is successful in King's Landing, Slow Burn, arya is a badass, but you know, gendry is a knight, well not really enemies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:26:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettyy_vacant/pseuds/Prettyy_vacant
Summary: Gendrya Sleeping Beauty AU with a few twists!Based off the January (oops I'm late but what's new) prompt from @days-of-gendrya on Tumblr
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 41
Kudos: 73





	1. Summoned to the North

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is my first published fic and I'm really excited to be sharing it with you all! I haven't done any creative writing in probably like 20 years so bear with me haha. I'm not 100% sure how many chapters this is going to be, my guess is around 10, but we'll see.
> 
> I took a couple of liberties with the prompt - my biggest thing that I want to point out is that unlike the original fairy tale, Gendry's motivation for rescuing Sansa is NOT going to be because he hopes to marry her if he does. Tbh I think that's completely out of character for him, especially given his detestation of highborns, and even though this is an AU I'd like to be as close to canon characterizations as possible, especially with him and Arya. The other liberties will be apparent as the story moves along, but I just wanted to point those out now.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The ride from The Crossroads Inn to Winterfell had taken just over a fortnight, but had felt twice as long. Once Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill had passed through the Neck into the true North, the weather had shifted from a comfortable coolness to a downright chill, accompanied most nights by consistent snowfall. He knew the summer was coming to an end, but he still found the sharp shift into winter’s territory to be quite shocking. Gendry had never experienced snow before, and had been wholly unprepared for encountering it on his journey.

Unsure of how long he would be away from the inn after receiving the summons from the Warden of the North himself, Gendry had packed all his meager belongings to bring along. He thanks all the gods that he had done so. By the time he had crested the last hill and Winterfell came into sight, he was wearing every single piece of clothing he owned underneath his armor. He even had a scarf wrapped around his head underneath his bull helm, leaving only enough of an opening for his piercing blue eyes to see through. Gendry chuckled to himself, glad to be of the south as he thought about what it was like in the North when winter was in full force.

Gendry began to guide his horse towards the gates of the castle. The snow had ceased falling a few hours before, and the guards atop the gates had spotted him quickly. Noticing their hustle and bustle in preparation for his own arrival, Gendry removed his helm and unwound the scarf from his head, finishing just as he brought the horse to a stop in front of the gates.

“Who goes there?” one of the guards atop the gates yelled, leaning over the edge to get a better look at the arriving knight.

“I am Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill,” Gendry shouted back. “Here to answer the summons of Lord Eddard Stark.”

The guard seemed to heave out a heavy sigh, giving Gendry a strange look before answering almost morosely.

“Aye, Ser Gendry, we have been expecting you. Just a moment while we open the gates.”

Gendry waited patiently as the guard turned away and shouted to the others to open the gates. Soon he heard the screeching of chains as the gates slowly opened, and once there was enough of a gap, Gendry quickly entered, his horse coming to a stop as a stable boy approached.

Quickly dismounting, Gendry handed the reigns to the boy just as a convoy approached them through the parted crowd in the courtyard. The boy led the horse to the stables, and as they moved Gendry was able to see more clearly the party that approached.

Leading was a tall and broad man, almost as big as Gendry himself. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, half knotted back, and his steely grey eyes displayed a look of pure determination on his aging face. _Lord Eddard Stark_ , Gendry recognized him. Flanking him on either side and in front of a few other guards, were two young men. To the left, what seemed to be a younger version of the lord himself; half a head shorter, but the same coloring and hard, northern features. To the lord’s right, another young man of similar age, with slightly softer features, short auburn curls, and bright blue eyes. The auburn-haired man and the lord both wore typical northern clothing in the Stark grey colors and thick fur cloaks, Lord Stark with a Valyrian steel broadsword strapped to his back, and the two young men with swords on their belts. But the dark-haired young man was dressed in all black.

This struck Gendry as quite peculiar, until he realized who the man was; Lord Eddard Stark’s famed bastard son, Jon Snow. He had heard many tales about the White Wolf; he had joined the Night’s Watch at five and ten, and had attained the position of Lord Commander by the time he was eight and ten. As far as Gendry knew, the Night’s Watchmen weren’t allowed to leave the Wall unless it was on official business, and the Lord Commander’s presence at Winterfell was something Gendry found quite ominous. A tightness formed in the pit of his stomach, as he wondered to himself what exactly he had gotten himself into.

“Ser Gendry, welcome to Winterfell. It is good to see you again.” Lord Stark’s voice boomed throughout the courtyard as he and his retinue came to a stop in front of the knight. “This is my son and heir, Robb Stark, and my natural son, Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. We and the rest of my family are very grateful you have come. We hope the journey was an easy one.”

Gendry gave the lord and his sons a bow, and a small but slightly nervous smile as he straightened up to his full height.

“Thank you, m’lord. In the short time I had with my father, he spoke very highly of the North and its people, and I’m honored to be here as your guest.” Gendry responded. “And it’s not every day the Warden of the North asks for an audience with you personally…” He smiled good-naturedly. “For a second time. Although, I am quite curious as to why I’ve been summoned here, m’lord.”

Lord Stark slowly nodded, and exchanged a look with each of his sons before he spoke.

“Aye, Ser, I’ll answer all of your questions soon enough.” the lord then clapped Gendry on his armored shoulder and began to guide him back towards where he and his sons had come from. “First, let’s get you fed and warm. Jon here will see you to your chambers and I’ll have some food and a hot bath sent up. Eat your fill and rest, and I’ll send someone to escort you to my solar for dinner. We have much to discuss.”

\- 

After the Lord Commander had guided him through the maze that was Winterfell castle to his chambers, Gendry set out to settle in. He had barely stripped down to just a single tunic and a pair of woolen breeches when there was a knock at the door. He crossed the room and opened it, met by a young woman holding a tray of food, who quickly breezed past him without word.

He turned towards her, watching as she crossed to the small table across from the bed and set down the tray. Her lack of greeting struck him as odd, as well as her attire. It wasn’t until she turned once again and locked eyes with him that Gendry fell quite thoroughly into a pit of confusion.

She crossed her arms over her chest and rested her hip against the table, and they looked each other over in similar fashions – like they were trying to figure the other out, but Gendry suspected she was also sizing him up. He had already noticed that she wasn’t wearing a typical serving girl’s dress, but nice leather boots, clean, black woolen breeches, a dark leather jerkin, and a plush fur cloak that was made to drape only over her right arm, leaving her left arm free. When his gaze came back to her face, his blue eyes locking with hers, it looked rather familiar; her pale skin, steely grey eyes, and shoulder-length dark hair, worn half up in what Gendry was starting to guess was the typical Northern fashion. There was a hint of an unfamiliar wildness to her, something that quite intrigued him.

They stood there for what felt like both seconds and hours, eyes locked in challenge, one challenging the other to break and speak first. He stood his ground until his stomach grumbled, reminding him he needed to eat. He broke eye contact as he walked towards her at the table, rolling his eyes.

He reached behind her and grabbed the loaf of warm bread, breaking off a chunk and stuffing it into his mouth. He chewed slowly as he raked his gaze over her again, swallowing as he reached her face once more and finally, he spoke.

“Is there something I can help you with, m’lady?”

The air of challenge soon fell away, her formerly stoic face now twisted in a pinched scowl. She uncrossed her arms and balled her fists at her sides, standing up straight to her full height as she craned her neck to look him in the eye. She was rather small, he observed; she barely reached his chest.

“Don’t. Call me. M’lady.”

Gendry gave her a contemplative look, and after a beat popped a chunk of cheese into his mouth.

“My apologies, what shall I call you then?”

She hesitated for a moment, as though she was making her mind up about something. She seemed to do so, as the hesitation was replaced with a smug smirk.

“Arya. _Ser_ Arya.”

At that, Gendry’s threw his head back and laughed heartily, which only seemed to make the small woman angrier. She was glaring daggers at him now, brows furrowed and nostrils flared. She had moved her hands to her hips, her right arm pushing her cloak back to reveal a thin Braavosi-style rapier strapped to her waist by a sword belt. His laughter eventually died down, and he had to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“A knight, you say?” Gendry said, “By the Seven, aren’t you a little old to still be playing pretend with a child’s sword? I mean, I’ve heard of Ser Brienne – and who hasn’t? - But she’s bigger than most men, and you’re just a tiny little thi-”

He seemed to have said the wrong thing, because the next thing he knew he was flat on his back on the floor, the breath nearly knocked out of him. Arya’s very real and _sharp_ sword pressed into his throat hard enough to draw blood, blood that he felt trickle down his neck and soak into the collar of his tunic. He inhaled sharply and used his hands to try and slide away from her, only to have her place one of her booted feet on his chest, applying enough pressure to keep him in place.

She stared down at him, giving him a cold, calculating look, before her face fell back to the serene stoicism she wore when she first entered the room. Arya removed her foot from his chest and her sword from his throat, clasping her hands behind her back after sliding the rapier back into its sheath.

“Let’s hope you take the task Lord Stark will be bestowing upon you more seriously than you just did the knight that could have slit your throat if _she_ wanted to.”

And with a quirk of a brow and a swing of her cloak, Arya swept from the room before Gendry could bring himself back to his feet.

-

Still reeling from his encounter with _Ser_ Arya, he was picking at the food on his tray when another knock sounded from the door. He called for the visitor to enter and the door swung open. Two servant girls glided in with a very large, steaming kettle. They quickly curtsied, and made their way to the large tub in the corner Gendry hadn’t noticed. As the girls emptied the kettle into the tub, two more girls entered, each holding a large pail of water, one with a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. After the kettle was emptied and the first two girls carried it out, the last two emptied their pails into the tub, filling it almost to the top.

Gendry’s eyes went wide with excitement when he realized he was about to take only the second hot bath of his life. He was broken by his reverie by one of the remaining girls, who cleared her throat and reached into the bag and pulled out a bar of soap that she placed next to the tub, a drying towel that she draped over the back of a chair, and a pile of carefully folded clothes.

“M’lord asked us to bring you some clean clothes, Ser, and to gather whatever you have that needs cleaning as well. After you’ve bathed, just leave what you need washed outside the door and we’ll collect it.”

She placed the pile at the end of the bed, and after Gendry thanked them both graciously, she grabbed her pail before scuttling back out of the door, the other girl right behind her.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Gendry jumped from his seat, food abandoned, and quickly began removing his clothes. Once he was as naked as a newborn babe, he slowly lowered himself into the steaming tub, his eyes rolling back into his head at the sheer luxury of it all. As he settled in, he leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, closed his eyes and sighed, his mind wandering to the first and only other hot bath he had ever taken.

It had been when he met his father. Plucked from Mott’s shop and escorted to the Red Keep, prepped to meet the King.

He thought of his father, and the little time they had together. He thought of meeting his younger half-brother, Edric, and hearing he also had an older half-sister in the Vale, and many others scattered about the Seven Kingdoms. He wondered how Edric was fairing as King – he hoped well. Edric was bred for the highborn life that had been offered to Gendry, and was surely doing just fine. Gendry almost regretted turning down his father’s offer for a moment as he thought of how he’d have unlimited access to hot baths had he not, but he quickly brushed the notion away by reminding himself of how much he _loathed_ highborns and their games of thrones. A life of scarce comfortable bathing was an unbothersome sacrifice if it meant he never had to deal with the treachery of politics.

Eventually the water began to cool, and Gendry reached over the edge of the tub and retrieved the bar of soap. He quickly lathered and scrubbed himself almost raw, ridding himself of the grime from his journey to the North (and then some). After finally washing and rinsing the mop of black hair on his head, Gendry stood and grabbed the drying towel from the chair. He stepped out of the tub and dried himself thoroughly before changing into the clothes that had been brought up for him. A pair of thick woolen socks, dark grey woolen breeches (thicker than any pair he had ever owned), a clean, white tunic, and black leather doublet, all wrapped in a plush cloak lined with black fur. He set the cloak, doublet, and socks aside for now, and slipped into the breeches and tunic, reveling in the feeling of the clean, crisp fabrics.

It had been less than an hour since he had been brought to his rooms, and since he had at least another hour before he would be summoned to Lord Stark’s solar, Gendry decided to try and get some actual rest. The hot bath had made him realize just how weary the journey to the North had made him. After gathering his dirty ( _filthy)_ garments and placing them in a pile in the hallway outside his door, he pulled back the thick layers of furs on the bed and slipped underneath, covering himself up to his chin as he settled comfortably into the featherbed. He closed his eyes, an act that would soon prove to be fruitless, as his mind wandered back to his earlier encounter with Arya; specifically, to her parting words:

_“Let’s hope you take the task Lord Stark will be bestowing upon you more seriously…”_

If Gendry was being honest with himself, he hadn’t had even an inkling of an idea about what Lord Stark had summoned him to Winterfell for. He had thought early on that maybe it had something to do with his father, since he and the lord had been close friends. But as he wracked his brain for what it could possibly be, Gendry came up empty. And now, between what Arya had said and the general subdued nature of everyone he had encountered since arriving in Winterfell, that tight feeling formed in the pit of his stomach once again.

What kind of task could Lord Stark possibly want to give to Gendry?

Sure, he was a knight, but only barely. Beric Dondarrion had knighted him upon his acceptance into the Brotherhood Without Banners, but really, Gendry hadn’t done much of anything to warrant it. He was still shit with a sword, although he was more ( _much_ more) adequate with the war hammer his father had gifted him when he and Gendry had parted ways.

He was, however, a more than adequate blacksmith. He had trained for ten years under Tobho Mott, the famed Qohori master smith in King’s Landing, until Gendry was summoned to the courts of King’s Landing. And after joining the Brotherhood, he became their in-house smith, crafting and fixing a wide array (okay – mostly just stolen swords and arrowheads) of weapons for them at the small forge at The Crossroads Inn.

Maybe the lord desired for Gendry to craft him a new weapon? Or something for one of his sons, mayhaps?

That would not explain the particularly ominous air surrounding the castle, though. It would especially not explain the presence of Lord Commander Snow, either. He knew it was possible those things were unrelated to why he was summoned to the North, but Gendry doubted it.

Gendry sighed, rubbing his hand down his face as he squeezed his eyes shut again and attempted to chase away these thoughts from his mind. There was no use dwelling on them now; he would find out what he was here for soon enough.

He finally drifted off into a restful slumber, but it seemed as though it was only for a minute or two before there was another knock at his door. He slowly slid out of bed and padded over to the door, and upon opening it, was met with a stone-faced Lord Commander Jon Snow.

“Ser Gendry, I hope I’m finding you well rested,” the Lord Commander inquired, giving him a friendly smile.

Gendry nodded, clearing his throat of the last remnants of sleep before responding.

“Aye, m’lord, I’m feeling much better, thank you,” Gendry said, as he moved to the chair where the rest of his clothes were waiting. He picked them up and placed them into his lap after he sat down, and began slipping his feet into the woolen socks. “Are you here to fetch me for your father?”

Lord Commander Snow nodded as he took a step further into the room, clasping his hands behind his back in a way that Gendry found a bit familiar, but couldn’t quite place.

“I am, yes,” he affirmed for Gendry, glancing over at the weapons that lay across the table behind the abandoned tray of food. His eyes widened in excitement. “Is that…is that a war hammer?”

“It is.” Gendry smirked as he stood to put on the doublet. “A gift from my father shortly before he died. Would you like to look at it? I have to warn you, though, it’s quite heavy.”

“Please, if it’s not too much trouble,” Jon answered, a small twinkle in his eyes that had Gendry grabbing his war hammer from the table. He handed it over to Jon, who surprisingly didn’t struggle to hold it as much as Gendry had thought he would. As he looked over it in slight awe and gave it an experimental swing, Gendry took the time to pull on his boots and then his cloak. He secured the clasp at his throat before glancing down at the Lord Commander’s sword, noticing the white direwolf pommel, red rubies set into the eyes, and the smooth but rippled looking blade.

“Is that Valyrian steel?!” Gendry gasped, pointing at the sword in question, stunned at the fact that a fellow bastard had come into possession of the precious metal.

“Huh?” Jon questioned, until he noticed what Gendry was pointing at. “Oh, um, yes, it is. Longclaw, it’s called. My predecessor at the Night’s Watch gifted it to me shortly before he died.” Jon smiled sadly as he handed the war hammer back Gendry, who placed it back on the table.

Seeing that Gendry was ready, Jon nodded toward the door and strode out to the hallway, looking behind him to make sure Gendry was following.

“May I have a look at your sword later?” Gendry asked as they made their way up the stairs, hoping he would say yes. “I’m a blacksmith by trade, you know, and I apprenticed under Tobho Mott in King’s Landing, one of the few smiths in Westeros who knows how to handle Valyrian Steel. Never got around to teaching me anything about it, but I know its worth and would appreciate a moment to study it. If you don’t mind, that is, Lord Commander.”

“Of course! Maybe in the morn we could even spar after I’m done with my sister; I’ve heard a few tales from my own father about yours and his war hammer – he was a man to be feared with that thing. I’d like to see if your looks aren’t all you got from your father.” He returned Gendry’s smile, a mischievous glint in his eye as they turned a corner and started down another long hallway.

A self-deprecating chuckle escaped Gendry’s lips at the comparison to his father. “Yes, well, it seems outside of my looks I haven’t inherited much from him – but I am much better with a hammer than a sword, so I would be very happy to accept your challenge, m’lord.”

“Please, Ser Gendry, I’m no lord – just Jon,” the Lord Commander responded, smiling good naturedly.

“Ah yes, _just Jon,_ ” Gendry japed. “Just Jon Snow, who’s _just_ Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch – and _just_ the son of the great Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and one of the most revered men of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jon narrowed his eyes at the knight, but had a hard time stifling the smile that fought to emerge on his face.

“I may be his son,” Jon said, “but I’m still a bastard, no lordship for me.”

“Fine, but if it’s _just Jon_ for you, then bastard to bastard, it’s just Gendry for me – I’m not much of a knight if I’m being honest with you, m’lo-” Gendry cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly. “… Jon.”

Jon laughed, and as they approached the door at the end of the hallway, he clapped Gendry on the shoulder and tilted his head towards the door.

“Gendry, before we go in there…” Jon started, looking as though he was choosing his words very carefully. “We’re all very thankful that you’re here, and I personally hope you decide to help us.”

Noting the change in tone, Gendry couldn’t help but think about what his mind had wandered to earlier, and decided to see if he could get anything out of Jon.

“Yes, about that… What is it exactly that your family needs help with?”

Jon’s brows furrowed in contemplation, something that reminded Gendry of someone else, but couldn’t for the life of him remember who. It was a moment before he responded, reaching for the door handle as he gave Gendry a sympathetic smile.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

-

Once they finally entered the Lord’s solar, Gendry was surprised to find that it wasn’t just the Lord and his two sons that he would be meeting and dining with; it seemed to be that he was dining with the entire Stark family. Gendry paused after entering, taking note of all who were there.

Seated next to Lord Stark at the large table was a woman whom Gendry assumed was the Lady of Winterfell. She was tall, with long red hair in a single braid down her back and wearing a well-made northern style dress of dark blue. On her other side sat a wheelchair-bound boy in the throes of becoming a man; he looked like he had been stretched a little too thin vertically, but was in the process of filling out. His short auburn curls and blue eyes were near identical to Robb, who, now that Gendry had seen her, took more after the Lady.

“Ser Gendry,” Lord Stark spoke, in a voice much softer than it had been in the courtyard earlier, but with the same level of steeliness. “I’m very glad you could join us for dinner. Please, take a seat.”

Jon sat in the seat across from the yet-to-be-named younger Stark, and gestured for Gendry to sit in the seat next to him. After bowing to the Lord and Lady, he sat down. Gendry looked to the other young boy who sat to his left, across from Lord Stark. He was younger still, a boy barely of two and ten, and while he shared the blue-eyed look with Robb and the other, his hair was more of a reddish brown, and in contrast to the rest of the stoicism of Gendry’s northern hosts, there was a touch of familiar wildness to the boy.

“Ser Gendry, please allow me to introduce the rest of my family.” Lord Stark spoke again, and gestured first to his wife. “This is my lady wife, Catelyn Stark, formerly of House Tully of Riverrun.”

“Lady Catelyn, it is an honor to meet you,” Gendry said, bowing his head respectfully to the Lady of the castle. “I thank you for inviting me into your home.”

The Lady mustered a small smile for him, and the lord continued.

“And to her left is my second youngest son, Bran,” Lord Stark continued, gesturing to the mini-Robb. “And to your own left is our youngest, Rickon.”

Gendry gave both the youngest Starks reverent nods in turn, and his curiosity piqued as he noticed the empty seat on the other side of Rickon. He turned back to the Lord of the castle to inquire.

“M’lord, are we missing someone?” he asked, gesturing to the empty chair across from Robb, who sat on the lord’s right side.

“Ah, yes. My youngest daughter.” the Lord answered. “I sent her on an errand this afternoon; she should be here at any moment, but she did say to start without her just in case it took longer than she expected. And on that note, please, everyone. Let’s eat.”

They had all just begun to tuck into their dinner when the door swung open abruptly, startling Gendry enough that he dropped his fork onto his plate. He grunted in frustration and picked it back up, turning to see who the new occupant was. His jaw dropped and his eyes went wide as Arya glided into the lord’s solar, and he subsequently dropped his fork again, the clatter echoing throughout the room.

Arya glanced over at him, a brow raised and a small amused smirk graced her lips, before she addressed the group.

“My apologies for being late, everyone.” she offered, and casually made her way to the table, sitting down in the empty seat next to Rickon. “I had some business in Wintertown to attend to, and it took a little longer than expected.”

Gendry picked his jaw up from the floor and averted his eyes to his plate. He once more lifted the dropped fork and proceeded to shovel a large forkful of venison into his mouth as he tried to process the fact that the fierce, wild woman who had bested him shortly after his arrival was the lord’s daughter.

“Everything go well in town, Arya dear?” Lady Stark inquired as she took a dainty bite of roasted carrot. “No one gave you any trouble?”

“None at all, mother. Everyone was very helpful as usual.” Arya replied as she piled meat and vegetables onto her plate, smacking Rickon’s hand away as he tried to pluck a sizable chunk of venison from it.

“Arya, this is Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill,” her father informed her, gesturing towards their guest. “Ser Gendry, this is my youngest daughter, Arya.”

Arya spared Gendry no glances, spearing two pieces of carrot with her fork and shoveling them into her mouth. Something Gendry found himself thankful for, as the lack of her gaze on him allowed him to gather his wits.

“Pleasure.” she mumbled through her chewing, pouring herself a glass of wine from one of the pitchers on the table, which she drank deeply from after she swallowed her food.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well…” Gendry replied, smirking into his own cup of wine. “M’lady.”

Arya stopped mid-bite, sending him a quick glare over her fork, before continuing and turning to her father.

“I stopped at the forge on the way in and spoke to Mikken, father. He said he’ll have everything ready first thing in the morn. Everything else should be arriving from Wintertown by then as well.”

“Very good, thank you, Arya.” Lord Stark responded. “You can update me on the rest after we’ve finished dinner. We can get to the meat of the discussion…” He paused, holding up a forkful of venison. “ _After the meat._ ” He finished, a small, smug smile on his lips accompanied by a quirked eyebrow.

There was silence for a beat, until all five Stark children groaned in unison. Gendry let out a small chuckle, watching as Lady Stark pursed her lips to hide a smile and fondly rolled her eyes at her husband’s silly jape.

The rest of dinner was spent discussing inane topics such as Gendry’s trip from the Crossroads or the Starks’ day to day tasks. “We’ll get to that later” was said many times, each time raising Gendry’s anxiety more and more. It wasn’t until the servants began clearing the table when they were finished eating that it ramped up in full force, leaving Gendry trembling in anticipation.

The last servants finally shuffled out of the room after tending to the fire in the room’s large hearth. Robb exited shortly after with Rickon in tow, and Jon wheeling Bran out behind them. The moment the door clicked shut, Lord Stark wasted no time in turning to Gendry and finally, finally addressing the elephant in the room.

“Ser Gendry, my deepest apologies for keeping you guessing as to why you are here,” Lord Stark began. “You have to understand, it is with the utmost secrecy that what I am about to tell you is to be handled. Many lives are at risk here, and a woman’s life hangs in the balance as we speak. We need your help.”

At that, Gendry’s mouth went dry. He reached for his cup of wine and drained it in one go. His attempt to steady his hand was futile, and he almost dropped the cup before he was able to set it back on the table. Clearing his throat, he spoke, hoping his words came out steadier than his hand had been.

“Help with what exactly, m’lord?”

Lord Stark looked at Gendry with an overwhelming sadness in his eyes, and sighed heavily. “My eldest daughter, Sansa, was kidnapped a year ago on her way South, and is now being held captive in the Westerlands. We need you to rescue her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:  
> We find out exactly what happened to Sansa as the Starks ask for Gendry's help
> 
> -
> 
> Chapter 2 is almost done, so that should be out soon. I'd like to say I'll be updating on some sort of regular schedule, but I am shit with time management so I make no promises lol.
> 
> Special thanks to @hollyhobbit101 for beta-ing this for me!


	2. The Kidnapping of Sansa Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks tell Gendry what happened to Sansa, and what her attempted rescue will entail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I'm not completely happy with it, and it's super dialogue heavy, but what can you do? (Probably a lot actually, but oh well)
> 
> Enjoy!

The room fell silent in solidarity with Gendry’s very visible shock. The Starks patiently waited for a reaction, any reaction from him, and he left them waiting longer than he meant to.

He couldn’t help it. The idea that anyone thought him to be any sort of courageous and gallant knight made him want to laugh. That anyone thought that of him enough to enlist his help in rescuing some damsel in distress was not only laughable, but outrageous.

Him? _Him?_ Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill, hedge knight, lowborn bastard, blacksmith for the band of outlaws known as the Brotherhood Without Banners? A blacksmith who spent most of his time these days mending horseshoes and shitty stolen swords he wasn’t even very good at swinging?

Gendry had no desire to prove himself to anyone, nor did he seek glory for any of his deeds. All he wanted was a quiet life, and he was mostly content with his situation at the Crossroads.

His eyes darted rapidly around the room as he tried to grasp the concept; it wasn’t until his gaze fell upon Arya, who was looking at him with a sense of smug amusement, that Gendry felt himself pulled back to reality. Gathering himself enough to speak, he cleared his throat before finally speaking.

“Um, I- It’s an honor, m’lord, to be- to be considered…” he spluttered; this wasn’t going as well as he hoped.

Gendry paused for a moment and took a deep breath, centering himself.

“I mean no disrespect,” he began. “But… Why _me_?”

He heard a snort to his left, and turned his head to see Arya staring at the ceiling with a bored look in her eyes.

“A great question.” she mumbled sarcastically.

“That’s enough, Arya.” Lord Stark snapped, narrowing his eyes at his daughter, who at least had the decency to look properly chastised.

Gendry re-gathered his wits, and further elaborated on his question.

“I know I’m a knight, m’lord,” he continued, “but out of respect for you and your family, I have to speak truly – it doesn’t mean much. I don’t ride around the country saving people just for thanks. I don’t ride around the country saving people at all. Seven hells – uh, er, pardon me - I spend most of my days in a forge still. I have never had a desire for fame, or adventure, or even riches. I don’t even feel comfortable being called ‘Ser Gendry’ – I’d much prefer to be just Gendry.”

The Lord gave Gendry a small, fond smile, but it was Lady Catelyn who spoke next, much to Gendry’s surprise.

“Well, _Gendry_ , that is precisely why you’re here. We need someone who’s willing to help us because it’s the right thing to do. We’re not looking for someone interested in infamy; just results.”

That threw Gendry for a bit of a loop; he always assumed in these type of situations gallant heroes were the ones that came in as top choices for rescue missions. It made sense to him; why would anyone want someone who didn’t care much for glory and therefore lacked motivation to complete these types of tasks? Not that he wouldn’t try his best to complete it - Gendry was stubborn to a fault, which meant his follow-through was strong.

As though he sensed Gendry’s apprehension, Lord Stark took over from his wife and continued. “I understand your hesitance, Gendry. Please, before you make a decision let us explain everything.”

Gendry’s eyes flitted from each remaining Stark to the next as they waited on bated breath for him to indicate he was ready to hear the rest. His eyes landed, again, on Arya, who returned his stare with an annoyed look and a quirked brow. He refrained from rolling his eyes at her in response, and instead his gaze shifted to her father, giving the Lord a nod.

Ned returned the nod, and cleared his throat.

“Nine years ago, I accepted your father’s proposal to be Hand of the King, as well as to betroth Sansa to Joffrey.” Lord Stark began. “I moved to King’s Landing, taking both Arya and Sansa with me. As you know, while there, I followed through on the former Hand’s investigation and uncovered Cersei’s illicit affair with her brother, and that her three children were Lannister bastards, and not trueborn Baratheons. But what you don’t know, and what most people outside of this room don’t know, is that it was both Arya and Sansa who brought me the evidence I needed to expose Cersei and her lies.”

Lord Stark looked from Gendry to Arya. She nodded and straightened up before she spoke.

“My father hired a Braavosi water dancer teacher for me, who, as part of my training, had me running around the Red Keep chasing cats. Thanks to him, I quickly learned all there was to know about the keep; the secret passageways, hidden hallways, underground tunnels.”

Her face broke out in a fond smile at the memory, her gaze flitting for a moment to her father, before turning back to Gendry and continuing.

“One night, I had found a passageway that led to the White Sword Tower, where the Kingsguard lived. It led to the armoury in the basement, and as I was exiting the passageway, I heard voices. I quickly hid as two people came into view; it was the Queen and her brother Jaime, the Kingslayer. They were arguing, and Cersei said something about my father finding out about the children. I thought nothing of it, until the Kingslayer said ‘our children’. I didn’t quite grasp the gravity of the situation, but I found it rather odd, since as far as I knew the Kingslayer didn’t have any children, and went straight to Father and told him what I overheard.”

“Arya’s evidence was good, to say the least,” Lord Stark interjected. “But it wasn’t enough. I knew, even with a few of your half-siblings at hand, I needed something more to get through to Robert what the Queen had done.”

The Lord then nodded to his wife, and Lady Catelyn looked to Gendry and took over.

“Soon after,” she began, “Sansa also went to Ned asking if her betrothal to Joffrey could be broken. She said he was cruel, and she no longer wished to marry him. Ned then told her what Arya had witnessed and about his investigation. He also told her that he wanted to go to Robert with all the information he had, but he was concerned it wasn’t going to be enough.”

“Sansa then offered to find me more compelling evidence,” Lord Stark said, “When I asked how she would do that, she just asked for me to trust her and give her a day's time. Whatever she had planned worked, and the next day she produced letters that the Queen had written to her brother, with enough details in them to prove not only the affair and the truth about the children, but also…” The Lord’s voice faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered with a large breath. “But also, that the Kingslayer had pushed our son Bran from the broken tower during the royal party’s visit to Winterfell before we went south.”

Gendry’s jaw dropped in disbelief; he had wondered why the boy was in a wheeled chair. He hadn’t made any assumptions as to what could have led to the boy’s condition, but he had not at all expected what Lord Stark had just told him. His eyes darted back and forth between the Lord and Lady before asking his next question.

“I’m so sorry, m’lord, m’lady,” Gendry offered, “I didn’t know that’s what had happened to him. Did the letters explain why the Kingslayer pushed him?”

He noted how the Lady’s jaw twitched, and anger flashed across her eyes for a moment. Just as quickly, she composed herself and answered.

“Bran had been climbing up the tower, and Cersei and her brother were inside. Bran… saw them. He didn’t remember anything after the fall so we didn’t know the truth until Ned read the letters Sansa found.”

Gendry nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. Thankfully he was saved by the Lord clearing his voice, and the Lady continued on with why they were all there.

“As I was saying, Ned told Sansa he was going to warn Cersei before he went to Robert so that she could flee with the children. She protested, suggesting that warning Cersei would end with blood spilled; the Lannisters’ are a ruthless family, to say the least, and Sansa was convinced Cersei would have Ned’s head for it if she knew he found out the full truth before she was arrested.”

Ned shifted in his seat and chuckled darkly. “Sansa probably saved my life,” he said as he stared down at his hands in his lap. “I almost let my honor get the best of me, but she had spent more time with the Queen than I had, and apparently she had learned a lot from that… _vile woman_.”

A scowl befell Ned’s features as he spat out his last words, and Lady Catelyn reached over to his lap and gave his hands a squeeze before she continued.

“Ned heeded her advice, and Cersei was none the wiser to his investigation. He finally confronted Robert on his deathbed with the evidence, and we all know what happened afterwards.”

Gendry nodded, recalling the day he heard of the Lannisters’ sentencing. He had just finished helping Master Mott close up the shop for the day, and had ventured over to the nearest tavern. He found a seat at an empty table by the door, and just as the bowl of brown he had ordered had been placed in front of him, a man came barging in. He swung the door open so hard it had hit Gendry, nearly knocking his mug of ale over. Gendry had been steaming at the ears, fully prepared to stand and teach him some manners, until the frantic man began shouting about the Queen’s treason.

“The Kingslayer was executed,” Gendry recalled. “And Cersei and the children were exiled. To Essos, I think.”

Lord Stark nodded. “Correct. Cersei’s father Tywin of course rose in rebellion, but it was short lived and taken care of swiftly. After that, I settled your brother on the throne. Once he was situated and we had replaced the small council, I resigned as Hand of the King, and the girls and I returned to the North.”

The Lord paused for a moment, gazing at his youngest daughter wistfully.

“After everything that happened in King’s Landing, I promised both of the girls that I would not seek a betrothal for them until they were ready,” Lord Stark carried on, “It wasn’t until shortly before her kidnapping that Sansa had found someone she would agree to marry. Your brother and Queen Margaery were here visiting, and had brought along the queen’s brothers. Sansa found herself quite taken with the Queen’s eldest brother Willas, and he with her, and a betrothal was set.”

Gendry found himself surprised by the Starks once again. Most highborn daughters were treated as commodities; sold off to the highest bidders in marriages of convenience to create or strengthen alliances. The daughters rarely had a say in the matches themselves, something that Gendry had a hard time fathoming.

The smallfolk had their many, many disadvantages in life compared to highborns, but that wasn’t usually one of them. Many would settle or marry for survival, but many also married for love. Furthermore, the women would have a choice in the matter just as much as the men did.

Gendry didn’t doubt that any betrothal that the Starks’ daughters would end up entered into wouldn’t have any political advantages, but he had a newfound respect for them giving their daughters a choice in the matter, something that happened so very rarely.

And after everything she had been through, Sansa had finally found herself a Lord she deemed worthy of her hand, and on her way to what should have been a life of peace and happiness, she was instead kidnapped and denied her happiness once again. Gendry shook his head at the thought, once again baffled at the complications that arose in highborn society.

“It happened on her way to Highgarden, then?” Gendry asked as she started to put the pieces together.

“Yes,” Lady Catelyn answered, “Sansa, Arya, and I departed with the royal party to travel to Highgarden with the Tyrells and begin wedding arrangements. The journey to King’s Landing was uneventful, but halfway from there to Highgarden is when Sansa was taken. We were half a day’s travel from Bitterbridge and had set up camp for the night. The girls and I had just retired to our tent when we heard screaming. I told the girls to stay, and I left to see what was going on. On the other side of the camp, one of the Tyrell guards had been found on the riverbank with his throat cut. It turned out to be a diversion, because when I immediately ran back to our tent, I found Arya had been knocked unconscious, and Sansa was gone without a trace.”

“Other than the one guard, no one else had been killed or attacked,” Arya said, picking up where her mother had left off, “Because of the diversion, no one had seen anything or anyone suspicious. Whoever knocked me out came from behind, I saw nothing. Willas sent the Tyrell guards to search for her, but no one found any trace of her. The next day, Mother and I continued on to Bitterbridge so that we could send Father a raven. Upon our arrival, we were given a letter addressed to Mother that had been delivered in the night. There was no seal, but it was wrapped in a necklace with a direwolf pendant.”

“I had given it to Sansa for her last name day.” Lord Stark interjected morosely, his gaze dropping to the table as his wife continued on.

“The message asked to meet at the Red Lake. Arya and I set out the next day at dawn, and we reached the lake in the dead of night the following day. There was a small dock with a rowboat, and per the instructions in the letter, we rowed it to the middle of the lake and waited. Soon after, another boat appeared through the fog and on it was… I thought I had gone mad with grief and my eyes were deceiving me. It was Cersei Lannister.”

Gendry’s eyes went wide at Cersei’s name. “Cersei Lannister? I thought she had been exiled.” He said dumbly, his focus on Lady Catelyn causing him to miss Arya's exaggerated eye roll in his honor.

“Obviously, that's what we thought, too,” Ned answered, “The prevailing theory is before he died during his attempt at rebellion, Tywin must have intercepted her before she arrived in Essos and smuggled her back to Westeros and into the Westerlands.”

“Most likely,” Lady Catelyn added, nodding thoughtfully before continuing, “She also had The Mountain with her. She told us they had taken Sansa, and had her hidden away somewhere in the Westerlands. When I asked her why she did this, why she took Sansa, she told me she held Sansa solely responsible for the ruin of her family.”

“Did she ask for anything in exchange for your daughter?” Gendry asked, wondering what it was he could have to deliver to the deranged former queen to save Sansa, “A ransom? Her freedom?”

Gendry felt himself pale as a sullen Lady Catelyn slowly shook her head. “Nothing, she asked for nothing.”

“She just wanted her, and us, to suffer.” Arya added, “She said Sansa ruined her family, so she was going to ruin hers too. She also warned that if anyone came close to where Sansa was hidden they would encounter much worse things than anything they could think to experience in their lifetime. I told her I would make sure she died a very slow death, and she just laughed. Then they rowed away, disappearing back into the fog.”

“After my wife and Arya came home,” the Lord interjected, “We began planning out the best way to get Sansa home. We were able to gather enough information to conclude she’s being held in the ruins of Tarbeck Hall on the coast of the Westerlands. It’s been abandoned for centuries, and is surround by a thick, wild jungle. We’ve had a few soldiers and knights of the North volunteer to rescue her. Willas has also had a few from The Reach try as well.”

Gendry’s swallowed thickly, and he stared at his wine goblet in contemplation. A million scenarios rushed through his mind, but they all ended the same way; the same way Gendry’s attempt very well could if he agreed to help the Starks. Finally, he met the Lord’s eyes as he asked a question he didn’t want the answer to. “What happened to them, m’lord?”

“It seems they all perished,” Lord Stark answered gravely, confirming Gendry’s worst fear, “The last correspondence from each of them came from Casterly Rock, informing us that they arrived and were going to set out to Tarbeck Hall to try and get to Sansa. Neither us nor Lord Tyrion ever heard from them again. The last was not one, but two people; Ser Brienne of Tarth, and The Hound.”

“Ser Brienne as a favor to myself,” Arya added, “and Clegane had been Joffrey’s protector in King’s Landing, but he seemed to have had a bit of a soft spot for Sansa. I was quite surprised when he arrived with Ser Brienne, wanting to help. But we haven’t heard from them since they arrived in Casterly Rock almost a moon ago. We assume they’re dead like all the others.”

Gendry stared at the table for a moment collecting his thoughts. If the Hound and Ser Brienne of all people couldn’t make it to Sansa and bring her home, how in all Seven Hells was he going to?

“I see,” Gendry responded slowly, “No offense, m’lord and m’ladies, but if _The Hound and Ser Brienne of Tarth_ were unsuccessful, how do you expect _me_ to succeed where they failed?”

“Because you won’t be alone.” Lord Stark replied, “We have decided it’s time we take the matter into our own hands. I took a dagger to the leg in King’s Landing and unfortunately cannot spend too much time on my feet these days. Were that not the case, I would’ve been the first person running through the jungle trying to find her. I can’t send any of my sons; Bran’s crippled, Rickon is far too young, and Robb is my heir and to be married soon. One daughter has already been taken from us, and I refused to send my other into harm’s way alone lest we lose her too.”

The Lord’s use of “alone” piqued Gendry’s interest, and his eyes bounced between him and Arya before he spoke.

“You refused to send her _alone,_ m’lord?” Gendry asked, “Do you mean you’re going to allow her to go now? And I’m meant to accompany her?”

Lord Stark nodded in response. “Exactly. And Jon and I will accompany you to the Westerlands as well. We’ll be there to help in any way we can. Please, Gendry, do not underestimate her – you’ll find Arya is quite proficient and I have no doubt she’ll be able to rescue her sister. Especially if you’re there to help her.”

At that, Gendry perked up a little. He liked Jon, and what little interaction they had had together so far had been rather pleasant. As well, he had a great respect for Ned Stark; he seemed as honorable as the tales surrounding him said, and he always treated Gendry with nothing respect. And as for Arya - after their first encounter, he wouldn’t likely be found underestimating her any time soon.

He was intrigued by the youngest Stark daughter, even if she didn’t seem to like him much. She was but eight and ten, and already a knight, apparently. Unlike himself, Gendry assumed she had most likely earned the knighthood. She was fierce and wild and strong; very different from any highborn woman he had ever met (not that he knew many… or any. But he’s heard stories).

He grabbed the jug of wine in front of him and poured himself another cup as he tried to process everything he had been told and was being asked to do.

“I understand time is of the essence m’lord, but I need some time to consider this. Can I give you an answer tomorrow? I’ll think on it tonight.”

Lord Stark quickly nodded, and looked a bit relieved, Gendry noticed, at not hearing an outright 'no'.

“I know we are asking a lot of you, and we have no right to. I wouldn’t blame you for saying no. We are all very thankful you’re even considering it. Take all the time you need, and let us know what you decide. We are well prepared to leave at any moment, so if you say yes then we can set out the very next day.”

“Thank you, m'lord,” he said after draining his cup, nodding solemnly to the head of House Stark, “I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow.”

-

After bidding the Starks a good night, Gendry left the Lord’s solar to return to his chambers. He was still rather flabbergasted that Lord Stark was asking Gendry to rescue his eldest daughter. His head hung low as he walked, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, and tried to wrap his head around the notion of adventuring off to save some damsel in distress that was captured by a deranged former queen.

Was he ready and willing to put his life on the line for the Starks? To turn his life upside down and go off on a rescue mission he might never return from?

He was quite content to live the rest of his days at the Crossroads Inn, far away from the politics and scheming of kings and queens. Gendry half-wished at the moment he had ignored Lord Stark's summons and stayed there. If he had, he’d probably be in the forge at this very moment, hammering away at a broken sword, and chasing off or putting to work any of the orphans who deigned to bother him that day.

Although, he had to admit to himself that the Starks were quite different than the rest – save for Arya, so far Gendry had been treated with nothing but kindness and respect (even if he felt a little like they were buttering him up), which was much better treatment than he was used to as a baseborn bastard.

After a few minutes of being stuck in his own mind, Gendry realized he should’ve been paying much more attention to the route Jon had taken to get to the Lord’s solar from the guest tower because he was truly and utterly lost.

He came to a halt and stood there for a moment, looking around with a furrow of his brows and his hands on his hips, angry at himself for being in this predicament. He turned back around and started back in the direction he came from, hoping to run into someone, _anyone,_ who could point him in the correct direction. As he rounded a corner, he collided with a small figure, and instinctually reached out to grasp their arms and prevent them from falling.

Gendry looked down only to be met with the last pair of grey eyes he expected to see. Arya glared up at him, making her irritation very obvious, and she swiftly pulled away from the grip he had on her.

“Look where you’re walking, stupid.”

Gendry scoffed, and met her eyes with his own annoyance to match. As fascinating as he found her, he was almost done with Arya’s lack of regard towards him.

“My apologies, m’lady,” He bit back, and then a smug smirk played on his lips, “I didn’t see you down there.”

He regretted the words even as they were leaving his mouth. His eyes widened slightly in fear despite making his best effort to seem unaffected by his mishap, convinced he would get a thorough lashing for disrespecting a highborn Lady of a great house. Gendry knew his place, and even though he had refused his father’s name, he certainly lived up to the words of his father’s house. _Ours is the Fury indeed_ , he thought, cursing his father for passing down his Baratheon blood to Gendry.

Much to his surprise, though, Arya didn’t seem to care, and only rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, and continued to glare.

“Why are you here?” She snapped, “These are the family chambers.”

“Oh,” Gendry rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing, “I’m a little lost.”

Arya snorted. “Gods you’re useless. Why Father is asking you to help us is beyond me.”

Just as Gendry was about to open his furious mouth with some sort of scathing retort once again, she startled him by grabbing his arm. “This way.”

She turned on her heel and dragged him along back in the direction from whence she came, taking various hallways and stairs that started to look vaguely familiar to Gendry. She came to an abrupt halt in front of a door that he recognized as his own.

“You’re welcome.”

Gendry stared at her, momentarily awestruck by her brazen audacity, before he reached for the handle and pushed the door open as he turned away from her to hide an eye roll and mumbled out a short “thanks”.

Arya didn’t respond, and he took that as the cue that their encounter was over. He entered his chambers, closing the door behind him. He had barely taken his cloak off before there was a knock at the door.

Gendry grunted in frustration, wanting just to be left alone so he could think and try to sleep. He stomped back to the door and opened it, not surprised at all to see that it was Arya. He stepped out into the hallway with her, and he noticed the contemplative look on her face. It was a much softer look on her than he had seen so far, and wondered how anyone could be both predictable and unexpected at all the same time.

“If you decide to help save my sister,” she began, “I appreciate it. We all do. We all just want her happy, safe, and in one piece.”

Gendry was mildly confused. He was not particularly expecting something heartfelt and, dare he say, _nice_ to come out of Arya’s mouth. He opened his mouth to reply, only to have her continue.

“But stay out of my way.”

Ah, yes, there it was.

“I’d go alone if my father wasn’t so insistent on sending me with an escort. I don’t _need_ you or anyone else to help me. I will not hesitate to leave you behind if you slow me down.”

Gendry had a feeling she wasn’t quite done, so he just cocked an eyebrow and kept his mouth shut. She proved him right a moment later. Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step towards him, prodding him in the chest with a finger.

“And know that I can do much worse to you than what I did earlier today.” Arya continued, her voice dropping threateningly low, “I could break every bone in your body yet leave you alive to suffer for the rest of your days. I could slip you a poison that would slowly drive you into the deepest depths of madness, but not kill you. And I _could_ kill you without leaving any trace. I know how to hide a body, and the best ways to make any death look like an accident.”

While he strangely did not doubt anything she said, Gendry was fuming at her unnecessary threats and couldn’t help but fire right back.

“Do you always go around threatening people who are here to help you, or am I just special? Have I done something to offend you? Or is the thought of having to fight beside a bastard pissing you off so much you feel the need to remind me you couldn’t give two shits about me at every turn?”

“What? No, that’s not what I-” She looked rather offended, Gendry noted, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. He leaned forward just enough to be eye level with her as he continued, not caring to let her finish.

“Well guess what, _m’lady_? It’s nothing I’m not used to, and it isn’t going to sway me one way or the other. And if I do decide to help you, you won’t have to worry about me getting in your way. I know my place; lowborn bastards like me are meant to just trail along behind all you pompous highborns, doing all the dirty work while you get all the recognition. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am sorely in need of some rest.”

Not waiting for her to respond, Gendry stepped back into his chambers and closed the door behind him once again. He stood there for a few moments, waiting to see if she would knock and bother him again, but a knock never came. He leaned back against the door, closing his eyes and sighing heavily.

He was well known for being a hot-head, Baratheon blood and all, but Gendry had been less and less easy to rile up so quickly the older he got. Nowadays, it normally took quite some time for him to reach a breaking point before he snapped, but something about Arya Stark seemed to have gotten under his skin.

Gendry shook his head, as though the physical action would rid him of his intangible thoughts of Arya and the Starks, and everything they laid before him today.

He pushed off the door and walked to the table across from the bed. He grabbed the water pitcher that sat atop the table, and proceeded to pour himself a cup that he quickly downed. He repeated the process, hoping the hydration would chase away any lingering wine in his system and help him keep a clear head while he contemplated the request the Starks had for him. Gendry then quickly shucked his boots and doublet, throwing them haphazardly around the room, and dropped onto the bed unceremoniously with a loud groan of frustration.

He laid atop the furs for what seemed like forever, his mind too clogged with thoughts and decisions that needed to be made for him to even think about moving to get under the covers. Finally, after turning over everything in his head one too many times, Gendry couldn’t take it anymore and decided he just wanted to sleep.

He sat up and blew out the candle on the small nightstand next to the bed. Gendry slipped underneath the furs, situating himself as comfortably as possible in the foreign-feeling featherbed.

It took Gendry much longer than he wished to fall asleep. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, his mind racing with the information the Starks had told him, no matter how hard he tried to think of anything else.

Once he finally drifted off, his dreams were fragmented and tumultuous, filled with clashing swords, sounding horns, and dragon fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:  
> Sparring in the training yard; Ned has a heart to heart with Gendry; a confrontation between two knights; Ned receives a raven.
> 
> _
> 
> Hopefully you won't have to wait as long for Chapter 3, but I promise nothing. :D
> 
> Special thanks again to @hollyhobbit101 for beta-ing this for me!

**Author's Note:**

> Questions/comments/kudos appreciated!
> 
> Find me over on Tumblr: @prettyyyvacant


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